rhapsody in blue
by eponnia
Summary: Post-Canon. Lyla has been reunited with Louis and Evan for mere minutes when her father appears in the crowd. [Part I of the "polaroid snapshots" series. Mainly Louyla with a healthy dose of unhealthy Novacek family dynamics. One-shot.]


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here's yet another epilogue fic.**

 **I think most people would call Wizard the villain of the movie. He's definitely a major antagonist, but I really think the film's villain is Lyla's father. **Thomas Novacek separated Lyla and Louis, emotionally abused his daughter, at times borderline physically abused her, illegally forged her signature on a government document, gave away Evan without her knowledge or consent, and willingly let her think for twelve years that her son was dead.****

 ** **If her father had not done any of those things, Louis and Lyla would be together, Evan would have been raised by his parents, Arthur would still be working for Wizard… the list goes on. If Thomas had not been in the film, the rest of the movie would not have happened.****

 **The title is borrowed from the title of "Rhapsody In Blue" by George Gershwin.**

* * *

Mr. Jeffries is taking Evan away, saying something about wards of the state and DNA tests and mountains of paperwork. Lyla wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around her son - _her_ _son_ \- and never let go.

But the logical part of her brain, usually so present but now at a whisper as it battles with her emotions, reminds her that legally this is what must happen. Mr. Jeffries seems like a good man, and he had promised that the three would be allowed to see each other in the morning. And so she lets Evan go, watching him leave with the case worker until Mr. Jeffries' car disappears into the bustling streets of New York City.

Only then does she look at Louis, still at her side, and he stares at her with a thousand emotions swirling in his blue eyes.

"I can't believe you're really here," he says, voice low. "And that we have a _son_."

"I can hardly wrap my mind around it myself," she breathes, taking a step towards him, but he suddenly moves away.

"Wait, Lyla…" Pain fills his gaze, and she can't understand why. "You're married."

"What? No. I'm not."

He actually breathes an audible sigh of relief, but adds, "Your neighbor said you were."

"My neighbor?"

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I, uh, went to your apartment building in Chicago to try to find you."

Something like happiness blooms in her chest that he tried to find her, like they are in a movie where the romantic hero moves heaven and earth to find his lady love. As the crowds leaving the concert go past them, she smiles. "Oh, my neighbor must have thought you were asking about my roommate–"

She freezes when her gaze flickers to a figure in the crowd, and suddenly she can't breathe.

"Lyla?" he asks, but she can't look away from the gray-haired man with the cane a few yards away.

"Of all the days he had to show up," she says, jaw clenching.

"Who showed–" Louis turns. "That's your dad, right?"

"Correct," she says through her teeth, and she can tell Louis is surprised by the intensity of her reaction. But she's had an eternity of being calm, and for the first time since finding Evan, she is glad their son isn't here; if he were present, she would have to rein in her emotions as to not scare him, but with him gone she can say whatever she wants to her father. She has twelve years – a lifetime, really – of words she bottled up, and she isn't going to hold them back any longer.

Thomas approaches them, leaning on his cane as he crosses the grass, but Lyla stands her ground. She is done bending over backwards for Thomas Novacek's whims. When the night air tugs at her hair and her white dress, Louis wordlessly peels off his leather jacket and places it around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmurs, pulling the coat around her, and the garment is still warm from his body heat.

But then her father is in front of her.

"There's a reason I did not invite you here, you know," she finds herself saying. Usually she would never talk to her father this way, but this is not a usual night, is it?

"Sweetheart…" His face is lined, but she wonders how much of it is from his previous heart attack or his disapproval at her life choices. Probably both. "It was your first official performance since you graduated. I wasn't about to miss it." He glares at Louis. "You're back with this lowlife again, I see. And I saw you with the boy conductor, Lyla. He's your bastard son, isn't he?"

" _Shut up_ ," she snarls, eyes blazing. She's never used this tone in her life, but it feels good. "Don't you dare say a word against Evan or Louis."

"Listen here–"

"No, _you_ listen to me for once." She takes a step forward, lifting her chin. "If you interfere in my life or that of my family again, I'll claw your eyes out."

Thomas is genuinely shocked by her words. "Lyla, all I wanted was to help you."

" _Help me_?" She lets out a bitter, nearly crazed laugh, but she makes no attempt to hide her emotions now. "You call destroying my life and Evan's life _helping_?"

"I never destroyed your life."

"Then who was it who forged my signature on the adoption papers?" She takes another step towards him, standing at her full height. "Who gave him up without my consent? Who dumped an hours old newborn with living parents in the foster care system just because he would get in the way of the plans _you_ had for my career?" The pitch of her voice is rising to a hoarse scream, but she doesn't care who is listening. "Who lied to my face as I woke up in the hospital after being hit by a car and told me that _my son was dead_?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a mixture of horror and fury forming on Louis' face as he listens to the story unfold; before her, Thomas is stunned into silence for the first time she has ever known.

"You will have no contact with Evan," she continues, "Louis, or me. Not Lizzy, not anyone who knows us. I could easily sue you for what you did to Evan, and probably land you in jail, but all I want is for you to disappear from my life and never come back." She straightens her spine. "Is that clear?"

He blinks at her.

" _Is. That. Clear_?"

"It is," Thomas says faintly.

"Good." She starts to march away, but then her father reaches for her, and she rips her arm from his grasp before Louis can even react. "Don't _ever_ touch me again."

"Lyla, I…" Tears come to Thomas' eyes, but she is unmovable. "Forgive me."

She stares at him for a long moment. "There may come a time when I can forgive you, but today is not that day." She pauses. "But know that forgiveness, even if granted, does not equal reconciliation."

She walks away without another word, and Louis follows.

Lyla heads back to the stage where the other musicians are packing up their instruments and the stage is being dismantled,. "I have to get my cello." She draws a breath and looks at Louis. "Wait for me?"

To anyone else, the phrase would be casual, but her words hang in the air between them.

"Always," he replies, blue gaze locking with hers, and it's hard to tear herself away.

When she returns with her cello case, instrument safely inside, he extends a hand. "Can I carry that for you?"

"Thanks," she says, handing over the heavy case. She hasn't lugged around a cello in a decade, and though the weight is familiar, her body isn't the same as it was twelve years ago when she was studying at Julliard. But none of them are the same, are they?

Louis doesn't exactly look like a classical musician in his ripped jeans, even while holding the case, but she can see the calluses on his fingers that match hers. Their hands are hardened in different ways from different strings of different instruments, but are still damaged and yet whole all at once. A lot like their hearts now, Lyla imagines – at least like hers.

"Can I walk you home?" he asks, and she remembers the last time he asked her this question. They aren't far from the place they first met, but this time her answer is different.

"Sure," she says, drinking in his hopeful half-smile, but he sobers as they walk through the park together.

"I know this won't mean much after everything," he says, voice low again, "but I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't find you, and that you went through everything you did. That your own father did those things to you, that I didn't know about Evan–"

"You don't need to apologize for all that. It wasn't your fault."

"But I should have tried harder to find you. I should have never let you leave the day after we met. And I even met Evan this morning. Literally right by the arch, and I didn't know who he was then, but I should have–"

"Louis," she cuts in. "Louis, look at me. You had no way of knowing of Evan's existence. Don't beat yourself up about that. I myself didn't even know he was alive until a few months ago." Something flickers in his eyes, but she continues. "You weren't the only one who regrets being separated the day after we met. I wanted to stay, I wanted to know _you_. I wasn't aware I was pregnant at the time, but I wanted to stay regardless. But my father wouldn't let me. He practically shoved me into that car." She pulls his coat tighter around her. "I had dreams of just opening the door in the opposite side of the car and just running to you. I had dreams of you, and Evan, and us raising him together, and–"

She stops, her throat is closing up, but also because she doesn't want to scare Louis off with ramblings of marriage and houses on cul-de-sacs and white picket fences. She may have thought of those things in the past decade, but surely it's too soon to tell him. He's gotten the biggest shock of the evening of them all; even Mr. Jeffries knew more of the fractured pieces of this tale than Louis did before tonight. She shouldn't overload him.

But he's not running away, making excuses to avoid her and her brokenness and her dreams. He stands there in front of her, more real than she ever imagined he would be when she thought of him for a decade, and the corner of his mouth turns up. "It's not a dream anymore," he rasps. "I'm not going anywhere this time. If you want me in your life again, of course."

"I want nothing more," she manages, tears pricking at her eyes.

"And I want to stick around for Evan, too. I'd never think of running out on him or you. You should have seen him today. He was so…" Louis trails off, but something is clearly bothering him, and Lyla's gaze snaps to his.

"He was what?"

"He was playing a guitar for money on a street corner like… like a hobo. Honestly he wasn't that clean, like he really lived on the streets. His hair was even kind of greasy, as if he hadn't showered in a few days. It was weird. But he told me if he went to his concert something bad would happen." Panic rises in her chest as his hands curls into fists at his sides. "And now that I think about it, there was this man who took him away. He called him August. Evan appeared to know him, but I should have said something. I should have stopped them, protected Evan, called the cops. I should have just knocked that guy's teeth in then and there–"

"Louis," she says again as he grows more agitated. Since reuniting with him, she's noticed he can get worked up easily, but his anger is only directed at those who deserve it, like the man he had seen with Evan that morning. "Louis, listen to me. You didn't know who Evan was. But he's safe now, and we'll make sure that man is never around our son again."

He calms somewhat at her even tone, and lets out an airy laugh. "Our _son_ ," he says, as if testing the weight and shape of the word on his tongue. "I still can't quite believe it. We have a _kid_."

"I know it's a lot to take in."

"The news kind of hit me like a semi out of nowhere, but honestly? I'm more happy than I thought I'd be. That is, if I ever imagined all this the first place. But, you know, I actually thought about having kids."

She tilts her head. "Really?"

He nods. "After I left me band, I tried to live a respectable life, you know? Office job, fancy walkup in San Francisco, the works. I even tried to move on from you – Lyla, you were the only girl who ever haunted me – but whenever Jennifer brought up kids, the idea never sat quite right with me. I guess she wasn't the one I was supposed to have kids with."

He glances at her. "Jen and I broke up, by the way. It makes life so much easier that you and I are both single."

"It does." They've reached the edge of the park, and Lyla waves down a taxi. "Life is already complicated as it is."

Louis loads her cello into the trunk with all the care of a musician, but he doesn't immediately get in the backseat of the yellow car like she expects. "So I may or may not have ditched me brothers again to find you at this concert, and I should probably go find them. We were supposed to fly out tonight, anyway."

Her heart leaps into her throat. "You're leaving?"

He actually laughs. "Hell no. Nothing is going to separate us this time." Tears well in her eyes, but for one of the first times in twelve years, it's because her heart is full with overflowing happiness and not soul-crushing sorrow. "I have to convince them I haven't gone off me rocker." He grins. "And to tell them about you and Evan."

She doesn't try to hold back the smile that threatens to split her face in two, and then he's pulling out his cellphone from his pocket. "Before you go, let's exchange numbers so we can find each other again. I don't want a repeat of last time."

"I don't have all night!" the taxi driver calls in a thick Jersey accent.

Lyla ducks her head into the car. "Just a minute, please. This is extremely important." She pulls her flip phone from her purse, straightening, and holds out her mobile phone. "You punch your number into my phone and I'll do the same in yours. It'll save time."

It only takes a moment to enter her contact information into his sleek Blackberry – a perk, she gathers, from his office job in San Francisco – but when their fingers brush as they return each other's devices, she doesn't blush like a schoolgirl. Instead she savors the contact, marveling at the fact that she can even touch his hand again after some much time apart.

"I'll text you the address of where we are meeting Evan tomorrow," she says as she goes to the taxi door, but lingers to drink in the sight of Louis, still barely able to comprehend that he is actually here. "I think they open at eight in the morning."

The driver is trying to keep his cool, but it's not completely working. "Are either of you getting in or not?"

She begrudgingly slides into the back of the taxi, and Louis goes to the still-open door. "I'll be there at eight on the dot."

"Shut the door already, miss," the driver barks, but Lyla isn't about to let another impatient man control her life.

"I'll see you there," she says, finally closing the door, but never breaks eye contact with Louis. As the taxi drives away, she looks out the rear window to watch him.

"I need an address," sighs the driver.

"Brooklyn," she says as she loses sight of Louis in the crowds, and suddenly feels tired. Twelve years of longing has come to fruition in the past hour; her adrenaline from performing, confronting her father, and finding Evan and Louis again is fading and turning into exhaustion that weighs down her very bones. As she leans back against the stained carpet seat of the taxi, she realizes belatedly that she is still wearing Louis' leather jacket. But part of her is glad she has it, because it is proof that tonight actually happened.

Life is finally better than her dreams, because it's _real_.


End file.
